Of Might and Magic
by Entwinedlove
Summary: A collection of one-shots and drabbles that are crossovers or fusions of the Harry Potter Universe and the Marvel Cinematic Universe.
1. Flower Power

**Flower Power  
**

 _Luna participates in a protest for magical rights and decides to recreate an icon image._

Pairing: Luna & Brock  
Rating: General  
Warnings: bad gun safety, Brock is not HYDRA  
Tropes: none  
Words: 768  
Original Release Date: 5 June 2018  
Additional Notes: This was originally posted separately but since it didn't have any reviews I decided to add it here where it belongs.

* * *

Tensions between the magical and non-magical worlds had been running hot since Magicals did away with the Statute of Secrecy. There had been a lot of protests and riots. Even the peaceful protests were being called riots and full of violence by the conservative members of the non-magical governments, usually because they considered all witches and wizards to be armed. Some brave wizards had then called for wizards to leave their wands at home. In the aftermath of a peaceful protest that was instigated into a riot, some of those brave wizards died because they couldn't Apparate away or protect themselves.

Luna was intensely upset about all of it. She was proud to be a witch and also proud to be British because the British were one of the first countries to just accept the magical community as people too.

Just as Hermione was doing her part as the British Minister for Magic, Luna decided to do hers and she'd come to the United States to participate in the peaceful protests. Magicals shouldn't be targets for violence for hate or violence's sake and they should be granted rights the same as any other group of people.

She remembered seeing a photograph when she was browsing the Muggle section of Tomes and Scrolls once that she really liked. It showed someone putting flowers in the barrels of the guns of the riot control at a protest. Luna thought it was beautiful and she wanted to recreate it.

Before she went to the protest, she headed to the shop on the corner and purchased a bouquet of white carnations. She hadn't picked them for their meanings but for their sturdiness. She carried them to the protest, carefully tucked into the small and otherwise empty rucksack on her back. Soon enough, large groups of armed police and non-magical Aurors of other departments started to show up.

Luna wasn't a Gryffindor, she wasn't brave in the same way that Harry or Ron or Hermione or Neville were, but she understood perseverance and compassion. As she slowly moved towards a group of scary-looking, heavily armed men she focused on breathing deeply and putting one foot in front of the other. Once she stood in front of them she pulled her bag around and set it on the ground at her feet. Her hands shook as she pulled a single carnation from the bundle and stood back up. A gun barrel was aimed at her face. Her breath caught and for a moment it felt like she was moving through treacle as she raised her had and slowly tucked the stem of the flower into the barrel.

She repeated the process, leaning down and picking up a single flower before standing. She leaned slightly to the right to place another flower in another barrel. It took her a long time to get through her bouquet and she knew her hands were trembling by the end of her little demonstration. She felt ashamed that she hadn't met the eyes of the men or possibly women who she was standing opposite.

With her last carnation in hand, she looked around to see who was missing a flower but the small group around her all had white carnations sticking out of their rifle barrels.

"May I?" said the man in front of her, the man who held the gun at her face when she'd first started. Luna's eyes went wide as she looked up at the tall man. Unlike his companions, he wasn't wearing a helmet. He had olive skin and dark hair and his clear brown eyes were watching her with curiosity. He had aimed his gun away from her, down at the ground, but the flower there didn't fall out. His hand was outstretched for the last flower in Luna's hand.

She handed it to him. With most of the stem below his hand, he snapped it in one quick motion. Luna felt the air in her lungs freeze but then he took a step out of line and tucked the shortened stem and flower into her hair above her ear. "I'm not going to shoot you," he said softly, tipping his head down to make eye contact with her. "All right?" he asked and there was reassurance in his voice. She nodded and he smiled. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

"Luna Lovegood," she answered, feeling a little braver than she had.

"I'm Brock Rumlow. Thank you for the flower."

"You're welcome," she replied, smiling.


	2. Spinning Thread

**Spinning Thread**

 _Draco wasn't sure getting new-parent-jitters_ again _was a thing but he was definitely feeling anxious._

Pairing: Clint/Natasha/Draco  
Rating: General  
Warnings: none  
Tropes: Family  
Words: 677  
Original Release Date: 28 July 2018  
Additional Notes: Written for Marvelously Magical Fanfiction's July Roll-a-Drabble.  
Prompt: Clint Barton, Draco Malfoy, family

* * *

Draco walked through the lobby of the Muggle hospital with purpose. He stopped at the lifts and wished he'd stopped to look at the map. "What floor did he say? What floor did he _say_?" he murmured to himself as he waited for one of the four lifts. The farthest one dinged and he moved closer to it, still occasionally muttered the room number Clint had given him. The lift doors opened and an older woman in green scrubs picked up the soft, fabric bag at her feet. She looked exhausted. She stepped off as Draco stepped on and when he turned to look at the keypad she turned to watch him for a moment.

He didn't press any of the buttons. He still had no idea what floor Maternity was.

"Fourth floor, sir," the healer said. He looked up and realised in his nervousness, he must have been muttering his predicament.

"Thanks," he said, smiling.

Despite her exhausted look, she smiled widely, "Congratulations."

"Hmm?" he asked, confused.

"You look like a new parent, am I right?"

"Oh," he said, feeling worried that she could see all of his secrets written on his skin. "Yes," he answered. The lift doors were starting to close. "Thanks," he said again, leaning sideways to see her as the doors closed.

He wasn't sure if he was considered a new parent or not. Scorpius was eleven and at Hogwarts and Draco was here, in an entirely different country, and feeling new-parent-jitters all over again. The lift dinged again and he stepped out. He followed the signs on the walls until he found the right door number. He paused outside the doorway before he knocked. Was this really happening? Was he really here?

"Are you going to come in or not?" a voice said from inside the room.

He froze before blinking and looking up. If she was feeling well enough to sass him then he supposed things had gone well enough. He took a deep breath and pushed the door open. He looked at the occupants of the room.

Natasha was sitting up in the bed, wearing a hospital gown. Her long, red hair was tangled and looked like it had been plastered to her face and neck with sweat until just recently. Clint was sitting at the side of the bed, holding a tiny bundle in a pink blanket. Both of them smiled at him when he took a step closer.

"Come see our baby, daddy," Clint said softly as he gently rocked the bundle.

Draco walked closer and stood next to the chair Clint was sitting in. He looked at the little baby, swaddled in her daddy's arms. "She's beautiful, Nat."

"Hey, I helped!" Clint said, sounding indignant.

"Are you sure?" Nat asked. Her smirk more pronounced than usual. She must still be feeling high from the potions. Drugs. Whatever it was they used at Muggle hospitals to manage labour pains.

"Of course, I'm sure, look at that little button nose!" Clint said.

Draco reached down and moved the blanket enough to get a look at their baby's hair. It was pale blonde. All he did was raise an eyebrow back at Clint.

"I was towheaded as a kid!"

"Sure you were," Draco teased.

"Anyway," he said, pulling the blanket back down over their little girl's hair. "How about you ask Nat what she's going to name her? Since she wouldn't tell me until you were here."

Natasha's gaze had slipped to look at the baby in Clint's arms and her smile was one of awe and love. Seeing that look on her face made Draco's heart clench with happiness too.

"Well, Nat?" he asked. "What are you naming our child?"

"Ariadna," she paused and then added, "Romanoff."

"Malfoy," Draco corrected.

Not to be outdone, Clint also added, "Barton."

She looked at both of them and then laughed. She definitely must still be high. Draco smiled and put his hand on Clint's shoulder, happy to see their partner laugh like that and thankful that she and Ariadna were healthy.


	3. The Enemy of My Enemy Is My Friend?

The Enemy of My Enemy... Is My Friend?

 _On an Auror mission by himself, Ron runs into someone he has a feeling he shouldn't mess with. Too bad that, after an encounter with the criminal wizard, it seems he'll be spending time with this fellow for the foreseeable future._

Pairing: Bucky & Ron  
Rating: teen  
Warnings: blood, violence  
Trope: time travel  
Words: 1,114  
Original Release Date: 25 August 2018  
Additional Notes: Witten for Marvelously Magical Fanfiction's August Roll-a-Drabble.  
Prompt: Bucky Barnes, Ron Weasley, time travel

* * *

Ron was glad he'd visited a few Muggle places with Hermione since they left school because this was one of the most difficult missions of his Auror career so far. He had followed the rogue wizard's tracks to a hospital in Paris and now he was stalking through the halls searching room by room for the irritating git who had led him on a wild hunt through six different countries in Europe.

He wanted to send an owl to Hermione and Harry to let them know that he was close to bringing in the wanker who'd attacked the visiting President of MACUSA. Harry would have normally been his partner for a mission like this but he was on paternity leave for his second kid. Ginny had been very vocal about having Harry by her side as she went through labour this time. He'd been out with Ron and George on a pub crawl last time.

In any case, he was sure he would apprehend the wizard tonight and be back in Britain before the weekend. Up ahead, Ron saw several Muggle Aurors with weapons guarding a room. One was staring straight ahead and the other was watching him as he approached. Ron glanced down to make sure, again, that he looked like any other Muggle Healer. Blue shirt and matching trousers, simple white shoes. Scopything (Hermione had tried to explain it to him when they'd gone to visit her dad in hospital once) around his neck. He blended in; he was sure of it.

He nodded at the guard and turned the corner to go down the hall towards a stairwell. He'd have to get a look in that room later but he doubted his wanted wizard would be in there. Suddenly a well-built man in a similar outfit to his came out of a room and walked into him, knocking them both down. "Sorry," he said, as he stood. He patted his pockets and glanced down realising his wand had slipped out. Something had slipped out of the other guy's pockets as well. Laying on the ground was a small black knife. It didn't look like a knife that was supposed to be in a hospital. He glanced back up at the man to see him staring Ron dead in the eye.

Before Ron could even blink, the other man had grabbed his knife, Ron's wand, and shoved both of them into a closet on the opposite side of the corridor. Ron's back was slammed against the door and the man held the knife to his throat. In the same hand, that looked sort of like metal, he held Ron's wand.

"Whoa, whoa, wait, mate," Ron said, holding up his hands as much as he could with the other guy up against him like he was. "I don't know what you're up to but I'm not supposed to be here, either, all right? Just give me my wand," he wiggled his fingers in its direction to indicate what he wanted, "And I'll pretend I never saw you, okay?"

It wasn't until he'd finished his little spiel that he realised he'd spoken English. They were in France. He had no way of knowing if this guy, this probable assassin, could understand him.

The man took a step back, though, and Ron breathed a small sigh of relief. At least he wasn't about to get his throat cut. The man had raised the wand in his hand to look it over while still keeping an eye on Ron. He spoke something in what sounded like Russian. When Ron just shook his head and raised his eyebrows, the man spoke again in English without an accent. "Who is your target?"

"A Brit named Henderson. Short, fat guy with dark hair and bulgy eyes."

"Not mine."

"Yeah? Wicked. Yours the guy with the armed guards? Good luck with that," Ron said, not really meaning a word of it. He just wanted his wand back so he could get out of there. This guy with a metal hand was freaking him out. "Can I have my wand back now?"

"Do you stab someone with it?" the man asked, looking suddenly much less intense than he had.

"Uh, no. I, umm, I'm a wizard. You know, magic? Don't tell anyone."

The man's eyes flicked back up to meet Ron's and the intensity was back, strong enough to pin Ron to the door if he hadn't already been against it. Ron felt studied as the man stared at him. Finally, when Ron was sure his heart was going to give out for pounding so hard in his chest the man spoke.

"Not a word." He handed Ron the wand.

Ron breathed another sigh of relief before tucking it into his pocket. He nodded. "Thanks, mate." He turned and exited the closet just in time to see Henderson trot by at a quick pace coming from the guarded room. He had something long and shiny dangling from his hand. He grabbed his wand from his pocket and raised it, "Stop Henderson, you're wanted by the British Ministry of Magic for your attack on a foreign—" before he could finish his words, Henderson had turned and looked at them with shock. He didn't hesitate to throw the thing he had in his hand at them.

"Two of you?" he muttered as the shiny rope-looking thing caught on Ron's wand. At the same time, the assassin beside him had raised his left hand and thrown his knife. The knife struck Henderson in the chest. He looked confused when he coughed up blood seconds after the blade slid into his chest. His gaze shifted from the man beside Ron to the thing caught on Ron's wand and the assassin's wrist.

It took a moment for Ron to realise what was dangling from the shiny rope.

A time turner.

And it was spinning.

He looked at the assassin beside him who was looking around them as light and dark changed back and forth and people moved around them quickly. When the movement and light changes stopped Ron pulled the time turner off them and pocketed it. He hurried down the corridor and checked doors until he came to an empty room. He fiddled with the buttons on the TV until he found the power. It clicked onto a news channel. Ron searched the screen until he found a date.

Three years and six months in the past. The assassin had followed him into the room. He stood at the door looking at the TV screen before dropping his gaze to Ron, confusion in his eyes.

Ron sighed, let his shoulders drop, and cursed, "Merlin's saggy..."


	4. Actions Speak Louder

**Actions Speak Louder**

 _Hermione wakes up in hospital. Her SHIELD partner Bucky Barnes is there to tell her what's what. He might be telling her something else too. In his way._

Pairing: Hermione/Bucky  
Rating: general  
Warnings: patient waking up for a coma, confusion, mentions of an accident  
Tropes: one party is oblivious  
Words: 807  
Original Release Date: 19 Sep 2018  
Additional Notes: For the Fairest of the Rare facebook group, SSS lesson 1 – Throwing Light in Dialogue

* * *

Hermione blinked awake, slow to identify the drop-in ceiling above her. Industrial, with dimmed lights. Hospital? She glanced around the room. She wasn't hooked up to machines or anything but she was definitely in a hospital bed. The stiff sheets and light blanket covering her lap gave it away.

To her right was a man napping in a chair. At first, she didn't recognise him, the long brown hair that dangled around his face covered his identity but the shine of metal peeking out between shirt sleeve and glove gave away who it was. Agent Bucky Barnes. He'd been her partner at SHIELD since day one.

She tried to say his name but it didn't come out, her throat was horribly dry. She coughed to try and clear it. He jerked awake and blinked at her. The smile on his face seemed bittersweet for a moment before it turned blinding. "You're awake!" It sounded more enthusiastic than the statement should have been. "Christ, doll, I'm so glad you're awake." He stood and leaned over her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. The action confused her. He'd never done that before. He turned and went to the door, calling out to a passing nurse. He returned and sat back down. "The nurse'll come check you out, make sure everything's okay."

She was still a little confused but her saliva helped wet her mouth enough to talk. "Did you take a Hair-Growth Potion?"

He shook his head and his smile started to slip. "You got hit pretty hard on our last mission, Hermione. They took you through surgery, put you in a medically induced coma to let you heal. Took you out of it... and you just... never woke up. It's... it's been a while."

"What?" She remembered the mission. Remembered the yellow pollen coating their black car and the way that Enhanced had thrown her back into it, the metal screeching and bending with the impact. "Did you at least get the guy?"

His left fist clenched and she could hear the plates in his arm shift. "Yeah. He won't be hurting anyone ever again."

"Barnes, we were supposed to bring him in alive!"

He shrugged. "You got hurt; I had to get you to a hospital."

She made a face, still having a hard time believing she'd been in a coma. His normally short-cropped hair was brushing his chin; he hadn't worn it that way in years. She glanced towards the window. She couldn't make out much except the tops of a few trees but every single branch was bare of leaves. Either the trees were dead or it wasn't spring any more. "What day is it?"

"January 17, 2019."

"2019?" Bile lodged in her throat. Their mission had been in April of 2017. She blinked and tears rushed into her eyes, slipping down her cheeks unasked for. "My life... what..." she'd had a boyfriend, had had plans for a date later that month... but if Barnes was here instead... "What happened with Curtis?"

He looked down at his hands and pursed his lips. "He stuck around for a few months but when you didn't wake up after surgery he said he couldn't deal. You'd only been dating him for a few months, though, right? It wasn't like you were going to be marrying the guy."

Well, no, she hadn't planned that far ahead. Either way, she felt robbed. She wiped away her tears and sighed. She'd lost almost two years. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you have been assigned a new SHIELD partner or something?"

He shook his head. "They wanted to. I said no. Got out. Wasn't going to leave my best girl, you know?"

"You've been here this whole time?"

He shrugged again. "They make me leave every few days to sleep and shower. I'm not the only one. There's a guy who's been on the ward waiting on his wife for fourteen years now." They were quiet for a moment and while she thought about that—thought about how he'd barely left her side in two years—he watched her. "How many times have I asked you to call me Bucky?" he asked, mirth returning to his features.

She rolled her eyes, feeling relief at the familiar tease. She wasn't sure she was ready to contemplate why he'd stayed with her while she'd been in a coma. Or stayed so long. "Fine... Bucky," she paused long enough to see a smile bloom on his lips, "Do you think there's some way to get some water? And maybe some food?"

"Sure, doll. I'll go see what I can get for you." He reached over and squeezed her hand once before he got up and left the room.

Hermione blinked as she stared down at her blanket, thinking about everything he'd said.

And everything he hadn't.


	5. Bond, Janine Bond

**Bond, Janine Bond**

 _Natasha had a simple task. Tag the perp with a tracking device. Everything would have gone to plan if "Malfoy. Draco Malfoy" hadn't shown up._

Pairing: Natasha x Draco  
Rating: teen  
Warnings: language, Muggle & Modern–No Powers AU, Cops AU  
Tropes: meet-cute (or meet-ugly?)  
Words: 1,577  
Original Release Date: 28 Sep 2018  
Additional Notes: Written for Marvelously Magical Fanfiction's September Roll-a-Drabble  
Prompt: Natasha Romanoff, Draco Malfoy, meet-cute

* * *

Natasha settled herself into a sticky booth at the back corner of the pub, angling her body just enough that looking towards the bar wouldn't be uncomfortable. She tapped the thick plastic red-framed glasses perched on her nose and looked past her target to the bottles of alcohol along the wall.

"We have visual," Clint's voice spoke in her ear.

She picked up the drinks menu and glanced through the bottom of the fake lenses to pretend to read it instead of tilting her head down. After a minute or so, she set the menu back down where she got it and crossed her hands on the table to wait for her target to make his move.

Unfortunately, her simple task was interrupted. A younger man, towheaded, with angular features joined her at her table. "Hello," he said, setting his beer glass on the table.

"Hi," she answered, glancing at him. He wasn't blocking her sightline so she let her team keep visual on the target and looked at her interloper.

"Mind if I sit with you?" he asked, even though he was already sitting. His accent sounded off. Natasha thought maybe it was Midwestern? Canadian? "I could get you a drink if you like?"

There were two distinct snickers going off in her ear. "Oh my god," Clint muttered, "This guy thinks he's suave?"

"Top shelf vodka martini, dirty, extra olives," Natasha said, still not moving. She let her gaze travel up and down the man to indicate her pseudo-interest.

"Yeah, sure. I'll go get that for you." He got up, leaving his beer on the table. Natasha had the strongest urge to drug it.

"A vodka martini, Nat? Really?" Sam questioned. She couldn't respond to him but her lips did quirk up into a smirk. "What, you gonna introduce yourself as _Bond, Janine Bond_ when he comes back?"

"Man, cut it out. She likes her vodka," Clint said, standing up for her.

The man stood at the bar next to her target and she saw him lean over as if engaging him in a conversation. He even looked back at the table and pointed. Natasha turned her head quickly and bit the inside of her cheek.

"Goddammit, if your little boy-toy messes up this operation..." Sam threatened.

Sam wouldn't be the only one pissed. Nat was tired of the different disguises. At least this time she wasn't wearing a wig. She turned back to the bar to make visual contact again and saw the man bringing her drink. He crossed between her and the target but then he was at the table and setting her drink in front of her.

"Thanks," she said, giving him a slight smile, picking up the glass and bringing it to her lips.

"You going to drink that?" Sam asked. She nodded her head minutely, causing the visual feedback in the van outside to bounce even as she took a sip.

A glance down at her glass showed that her lipstick seemed like it was transfer-proof like Sharon had claimed. Nice. She licked her lips, enjoying the salt from the olive brine. "It's perfect."

The blond man smiled and nodded, "Good, I'm glad. By the way, I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."

Sam's suppressed howl of laughter rang in her ear.

"Natalie Rogers." She let her red-painted nails play along the top of her glass and tilted her head just slightly. Someone had sat down next to her target. They hadn't made contact yet but they might.

"You hear that, Barnes? Sounds like she's cheating on you with the Captain tonight," Sam teased.

Bucky's voice was low pitched, almost a growl. "Knock it off, boys." Her gaze darted to the dark corner booth along the opposite wall where her partner (professional only these days, thank-you-very-much) sat slouched back with a whisky glass held in front of his mouth. "It looks like our target's found his mark. What do you think?"

"So," Malfoy said, "Do you come here often?"

This time it was Clint moaning something about how abysmal this guy's lines were that caused her lips to quirk.

"Stop laughing, Barton, contact's been made. Keep sharp," Bucky instructed.

Natasha hadn't seen the contact in her periphery but she trusted Bucky to call her to action when it was time for her to do her thing. "No, actually. It's my first time," she told Malfoy.

Clint whined in her ear and she could just picture him holding his sides trying not to laugh.

"Oh, really?" Malfoy said, sounding flustered. "I mean, yeah, I haven't—"

"Now, Nat," Bucky commanded in her ear.

She stood quickly, rushed the words, "If you'll excuse me," out to Malfoy and was walking towards the pub door in seconds. Her target was buttoning his suit jacket at the door, oblivious to her approach.

She reached out, meaning to grab his elbow and plant the tracking device on him when across the pub Malfoy's voice called out, "Hey, wait!"

She jerked her hand back as the target turned around at the shout. He glanced at her, then at Malfoy and then slipped out the door. Half the pub had turned at Malfoy's shout and if she didn't answer it would surely draw more attention. He was actually jogging towards her when she turned around to face him.

Bucky's voice was sharp in her ear, "Nat, did you get him?"

"No," she answered lowly, glaring at Malfoy as he slowed his approach.

"Stand down, target wasn't tagged," Bucky told the others. She heard Sam and Clint swear in her ear.

"What'd I say?" Malfoy asked, putting his hand on her elbow. "You left in such a hurry."

"Excuse me," she practically growled. He raised the hand that was touching her like she burned him.

"Hey, but I mean—"

In her periphery, she saw Bucky standing and so she turned on her heel and swung the door hard. Malfoy caught it and followed her out.

"Nat, what happened?" Clint asked in her ear.

Her cover wasn't any good now and so she answered him, ignoring the idiot still following her. "Jackass screwed over our op, is what happened." She got six yards past the door towards the side street where the van was parked before she turned back around to find Malfoy was still following her. She spotted the pub door closing behind Bucky as he followed them out. "If you don't get away from me right now, Malfoy, I have no problem dropping your ass to the pavement."

He stopped and raised his hands, "Whoa, I'm just doing my job, Rogers." His accent had changed to something decidedly British.

Bucky had walked up behind him, silent on his feet as ever, and said, "And what job was that?"

Malfoy jumped and spun around. "I'm MI6. We've been investigating that guy for months. I couldn't have you blowing my introduction to him."

"Blowing your—" Natasha repeated, almost spluttering, "We've been working on this case for a year and you were, what? Trying to get in his organization? Been there, done that. It doesn't work, I've tried!" She said, her voice starting to rise. "You just ruined six weeks' worth of work with your horrible lines, ridiculous made-up name, and bad accent."

"Nat—" Bucky's voice warned. She knew she shouldn't be saying these things out in the open.

"Made-up name?" Malfoy asked, incredulous. "What? So you're not actually named Natalie Rogers?"

"Of course not!" She shouted. She had had enough of this and turned, intent to retreat back to the van where Clint and Sam had been monitoring A/V.

"Who are you guys, anyway?" he asked. She heard Bucky's low rumbling voice as he answered the question.

Clint was already opening the door for her and she climbed in, silently fuming. "Tough luck, Nat," he said, patting her on the back. Sam was already in the driver's seat as Bucky joined them. "Well?"

"We exchanged contact info. I'll have to see what the Captain thinks about it all. They might have jurisdiction."

Nat closed her eyes and leaned back in her seat, ready for the evening to be over.

"Malfoy" was at headquarters the following morning when she got in.

"So, I just wanted to say that I'm sorry about last night," he said. He shuffled the manilla envelope in his hands like he was nervous. "My boss talked to yours and said we'd be working together on this... I was, umm," he paused to lick his lips, "wondering if I could get your real name?"

She looked at him, hoping that her gaze came off as completely uninterested and said, "And am I just suppose to know yours?"

"It's Draco Malfoy like I told you last night."

She wanted to roll her eyes at his ineptitude. "Who goes into an undercover situation with their real name?" He opened his mouth to speak but she cut him off, "You know what? Nevermind."

Captain Rogers' door opened and he leaned out, "Romanoff? Can you come here a minute?"

She sighed and headed that way, mentally prepping herself. She knew that tone and knew a reprimand was incoming. This day couldn't possibly get any worse, could it? She supposed it could if she were partnered with the Brit.

Once the door to Captain Rogers' office was closed and she was sitting in the stiff-back chair across his desk from him, he said, "I saw you're already acquainted with your new partner. What do you think?"


	6. Once Bitten, Twice Shy

**Once Bitten, Twice Shy**

 _Cursed by a witch as a teen and then bitten by a Werecat after he fell off the train in the Alps, Bucky's curses at turns made it easier and harder for HYDRA through the years. Now that he's free of them, it's time to rejoin society._

Pairing: Hermione & Bucky  
Rating: general  
Warnings: none  
Tropes: Werecat!Bucky  
Words: 804  
Original Release Date: 03 Oct 2018  
Additional Notes: Written for Fairest of the Rare's #ShipSailingMondays for October 1st  
Prompt: "The ears on your costume are so cute. How'd you—oh my god, are they real?"

* * *

Bucky swished his tail and flicked his ears, checking once more that there was nothing stuck in the spotted fur. He didn't like the feel of the mask covering the upper half of his face but it was necessary for the party. The invitation had said so.

He picked up the invitation-Porkey, reread the time once more, and waited the two minutes for it to activate. The catching sensation in his stomach made him want to twist and flail but he knew he shouldn't. Flailing during Portkey use was for one, futile, and for another, painful. Finally, the sensation ended and he landed lightly on his toes on a marble floor, bending his knees to absorb his weight.

The Magical Congress of the USA had rented out an enormous ballroom and decorated it with pumpkins and silhouettes of black cats and the stereotypical witches on broomsticks. He supposed if the witches weren't offended, he shouldn't be either. He stalked around the outskirts of the room, his ears twitching as he noticed the string quartet and then tuned it out. He could hear plenty of idle chatter from the magical people and beings around the room.

As he found a slightly shadowy corner underneath a large decorated column, he turned and got a look at some of the other costumed people about. There was an ice queen, a woman who'd painted her skin green—he had no trouble understanding the reference there—another woman with horns. There was a man dressed as a vampire, another as a werewolf. A quick sniff told him that there were some Weres in the room, a bear and a few wolves but his nose didn't tell him who was dressed as what.

The music changed and caught Bucky's ear again. It was a catchy tune and he flicked his tail in time with it. It had been a long time since he'd enjoyed being in a crowd and he was content to sit on the sidelines and watch all the people mingle. He saw a couple walk towards the drink table near him and heard one of them speak. She had a high, squeaky voice that could get on Bucky's every last nerve. Her partner walked off and the squeaky one turned and looked at him.

He froze, stilling his tail. He scented the air, just in case he could tell if she had any ulterior motives by smell. All he got was a nose full of overly sweet perfume. "Hi!" she said as she approached, her voice assaulting his sensitive ears and her cloud of perfume assaulted his nose. "You've got an interesting costume. It's very minimalist, isn't it? I suppose the invitation did only say masks required," she rambled. She reached up into Bucky's personal space and touched one of his ears. "The ears on your costume are so cute. How'd you—" he twitched it and bared his teeth, uncomfortable, "—oh my god, are they real?" She pulled her hand back reluctantly. "What _are_ you?"

Bucky found that to be just as rude as touching his ears without permission but answered anyway, if only it would make her go away faster, "Werecat."

She looked at him dubiously. "I've never seen a Were who could only partially shift."

"Bucky!" another woman's voice called, interrupting whatever the woman in front of him was about to say next, "It's so good to see you. I'm glad you could make it!" the newest woman's voice was a pleasant tone and she didn't smell overwhelmingly of anything. Her brown hair was pulled up into something tidy at the back of her head and she was wearing a mask over her nose and mouth that made her resemble an otter. Bucky swished his tail in delight, he _liked_ this one. He took a step towards her and she made excuses to the other woman, he wasn't listening. He brushed his shoulder against hers and she smiled and led him away from the smelly, rude woman. "Hello, Sergeant Barnes," she greeted him properly as they walked to another quiet corner of the room.

Only one person knew who he was here. The woman who'd sent the invitation. "Miss Granger?"

"Yes. Thank you for coming to the ball. Having Weres attend has definitely shown MaCUSA that there are plenty of you who care about the legislation for equal rights about to go into effect."

"I was a man before I was a Were."

"That's exactly how I see it as well." She gave him a sweet smile and he returned it. He was glad she'd reached out to him. Being cursed to wear evidence of his Were-ness all the time ostracized him more than he'd like to admit. Here was someone who wasn't overly handsy who appreciated him as a person. He definitely liked her.


	7. You Can't Find It On a Map

**You Can't Find it On a Map**

 _It's Charlie's turn to deal with the random Muggle trying to visit the Dragon Sanctuary._

Pairing: Bucky & Charlie  
Rating: general  
Warnings: none  
Tropes: Memory Loss  
Words: 961  
Original Release Date: 09 Oct 2018  
Additional Notes: This wasn't originally my prompt but for one of Marvelously Magical Fanfiction's Roll-a-Drabbles someone received Bucky, Charlie, and memory loss, and I wanted to give that a shot too.

* * *

Charlie was just sitting down at his usual table to enjoy his first pint of the night when he felt one of his friends pat him on the shoulder. "There's a non-magical at the gate. It's your turn. He looks pretty confused."

He sighed and frowned down at his beer. A quick glance at his mates confirmed what they expected him to do and he tipped it up and chugged it. He accepted the cheers when he was done and headed out to greet the poor bloke. To even get to the dragon sanctuary the Muggle way, he would have had to take one of the lesser used trains all the way to the end stop and then follow the very few signs for it. To Muggles, the sign read Romanian Wildlife and Nature Preserve: Temporarily Closed. Of course, it'd been listed as closed since they opened shortly after the first World War. To Wizards, however, the sign read Romanian Dragon Sanctuary and listed the men who lost their lives establishing the preserve.

It was already dark and Charlie wasn't sure why this bloke had turned up now. Usually, if they got visitors it was tourists to Romania during the day. As he approached the fellow, he thought that maybe the bloke was just looking for a place to bed down for the night. He looked homeless.

This wasn't the best place for that either.

"Salut," he called, not wanting to startle the man. He was studying the sign intently but turned at Charlie's greeting.

"Salut," he greeted back. He tapped the big metal sign and scrunched up his face as if trying to find a lost thought.

"Are you all right?" Charlie asked in Romanian. When the man didn't answer, or even return his attention to him, he tried again. "I'm sorry but the Nature Preserve is closed to visitors at the moment."

The man's gaze flicked from Charlie's face to the sign and back. "Joseph Rogers..." he said, tapping the sign again.

"Excuse me? My name's Charlie, is your name Joseph?"

"Nu, nu," the man said, shaking his head. The confused look had returned to his features. Charlie paused, unsure what to do with the guy. He was tall and broad at the shoulders but he couldn't tell if that was muscle or if the guy was just wearing every shirt he owned. His hair was greasy and dark in the dim light from above the sign and he had at least two weeks worth of the start of a beard on his face. He looked like he'd been roughing it for a while. Charlie wasn't close enough to tell if the guy smelled as foul as he looked.

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave. There's no place for you to stay here," he said, though he felt bad. Yes, it was dangerous for Muggles and yes this bloke would need to be Obliviated but his mother's influence had him wanting to offer the guy a place to stay, at least for the night. He looked like he could use some comfort. Ultimately, it wasn't his call.

"Rogers," the man said, tapping the sign for a third time.

Finally, Charlie glanced at where the man kept tapping. Directly under one grimy finger was the name Joseph Rogers. It took a second longer than it should have for Charlie to realise what that meant. "Wait, are you a wizard?" When the man didn't respond again, Charlie took a step closer and put out his hand to touch the guy's shoulder. Before he even registered movement, the guy had blocked him by grabbing his wrist in his gloved left hand in an unforgiving grip. The confused look on the guy's face had disappeared and what was left was a glare that rivalled Old Bessie on a bad day.

"Whoa, hold up. I didn't mean anything by it. Just... Can you tell me what you're looking for? Joseph Rogers died almost a hundred years ago. I'm not sure what you want here."

The man let go and his brows furrowed again, that same confused lost look taking over his face. "Are there really dragons?" he asked in American English. "Ma Rogers told us about them when we were kids but... I thought they were all gone... or I'd dreamed it or..."

Charlie's eyebrows raised. Ma Rogers, huh? "Are you a wizard?" he asked again, in English this time as well.

The man looked down like he was thinking about it before answering in a confused, small voice, "No?"

"Are you a squib?" Finally, with at least the confirmation that the guy could read the sign, Charlie made a decision he'd probably get reprimanded for. "Why don't you come up to the pub with me? I'll see about getting you a hot meal, maybe a pint. I bet a warm bath and a full belly will help jog your memory. Does that sound good?"

The man looked up at Charlie like he'd never received anything so kind as an offer of a bath and a meal and nodded after hesitating a moment.

"Great. Like I said earlier, I'm Charlie. Charlie Weasley. What's your—" he paused and rephrased his question, "Do you remember your name?"

The man's lips pressed together and looked reluctant to try the words, like saying his name could result in pain but finally he managed, "Barnes... James—no. Bucky—Barnes."

"Well, Bucky, let's see if we can't find you a place here. Starting with a meal and a bathtub." Charlie almost made the mistake of laying his arm over Bucky's shoulders but stopped and gestured in front of them instead.

Bucky gave him the tiniest quirk of a smile before he started up the path Charlie had indicated.


	8. Better Not to Know

**Better Not to Know**

 _Hermione goes back in time and throws out all the rules. Bucky's left wondering if it would have been easier not knowing._

Pairing: Hermione/Steve, Bucky/Steve  
Rating: teen  
Warnings: POV and tense changes between scenes, deliberate switch between BrE & AmE spellings  
Tropes: time travel, foreshadowing character death  
Words: 631  
Original Release Date: 18 Oct 2018  
Additional Notes: For the Fairest of the Rare facebook group, SSS lesson 3 – point of view

* * *

Chills race up and down Hermione's spine. She wraps her arms around her stomach, willing her dinner to stay down. She'd never travelled so far back in time before and didn't have any reference to know if what she's feeling was typical. She opens her eyes and her jaw goes slack, shocked at what—at who—is standing over her.

"Come on, let me help you up," the thin, short man says as he gets a hand under her arm.

When she's standing, she stares. She knows it's impolite but she just can't stop looking at him. He's shorter than her and he looks so _frail_ , bony and thin and angular. His eyes are still that startling blue that had arrested her attention the first time they'd met. His clothes are over-sized for his frame and they're a little worn in places but there's no doubt in her mind who this is. He's starting to fidget under her obvious gaze and she recognises the idle way he twitches his fingers. "Steve?"

He freezes, blinking confusedly at her for a moment. He asks, "I'm sorry, do I know you?" and she can't help but marvel at how he sounds exactly the same as the six-foot-two super soldier she knows in the present.

She breathes through a chuckle, rapidly remembering all the things she isn't supposed to do regarding Time Travel and then promptly disregards all of them. "You don't know me yet... you will, though, in the future."

* . * . *

I hadn't thought Steve could be so stupid. He had helped a woman who'd fallen in a back alley, had believed her when she said she was from the future and she knew him, and then he'd invited her to stay in our apartment. If we had had anything of value, I'd have been worried we were going to wake up to her slipping out with the silver. We didn't, of course, but that hadn't been the point.

Steve had given her our spare blanket and she'd made a bed of our threadbare couch. I had tried to slip off to bed down in the back room on the floor but he'd insisted that if she knew him in the future then she would know what we were to one another.

I thought she was full of shit. I'd given her a chance, had talked with her over dinner, but she hadn't seemed to know much of anything about Steve. She hadn't known his favorite song or his favorite actress. Hadn't seemed to know about his bad ear and partial colorblindness. She'd looked worried when he had stood up too fast and had to steady himself on the back of a kitchen chair. I thought she had to have been a charlatan taking advantage of his kindness. I had thought that Steve had just refused to see it.

The way she kept looking at me bothered me too. Like she had no idea who I was or how to talk to me. Like she'd never met me. Sometimes I'd even catch her looking at me with pity in her eyes.

If I had believed her, that would have scared me. What had happened to me in her so-called future? Why wouldn't I be by Steve's side? That's why I didn't believe her story. Steve may have been an easy mark but she couldn't say she was from the future, that she knew Steve and didn't know me, and expect me to believe her.

I had told him until the end of the line and I'd meant it.

It wasn't until this morning when I opened the mail slot that I believed the woman who'd been living in our apartment for weeks. Inside was only a small slip of paper, addressed to me.

A draft card.


	9. Genius, Billionaire, Playboy

**Genius, Billionaire, Playboy**

 _Just when Tony thinks he's going to have to resort to improvised food construction to alleviate his boredom, a pretty woman walks up that catches his attention._

Pairing: Hermione/Tony  
Rating: teen  
Warnings: implied adultery  
Tropes: fake dating, Pre-Iron Man  
Words: 1,040  
Original Release Date: 26 Oct 2018  
Additional Notes: Written for Marvelously Magical Fanfiction's October Roll-a-Drabble.  
Prompt: Tony Stark, Hermione Granger, fake dating

* * *

Tony was bored. He was attending some gala for some random charity while he was here in London and somehow, nobody seemed to recognize him. Which wasn't bad, per say, but it was strange to not be at least _somebody's_ center of attention. So he was standing at the buffet table, snacking and vacillating between wanting to eavesdrop on nearby conversations or see what he could build from the wide array of food products on the table.

A pretty woman with wild hair looking extremely stressed out approached the bar near where he was standing. "Fire whiskey, please," she told the bartender. The man behind the bar fixed it and though Tony didn't see him pull out a lighter when he slid it across the bartop to the woman it was on fire. Instead of blowing the fire out like any sensible person, she tipped it up and drank it down like a shot, setting the tumbler on the bartop with a heavy clink when she was done.

Intrigued, Tony sidled up beside her. Any woman who could drink her liquor like that was someone worth talking to. "Do you always shoot your whiskey?" he asked.

She startled slightly before turning to look at him. He watched her eyes appraise him, following the lines of the designer suit he wore and then back up to his face. He gave her his signature smirk and wink.

She shrugged and then nodded. "You'll do." She reached forward and hooked her arm around his, turning him back out towards the room.

His eyebrows rose up his forehead as confusion colored his expression. "I'll do?"

"Yes," she said in a no-nonsense, clipped tone. She seemed to be speaking out of the corner of her mouth. "We're dating."

"How long have we been dating?" he asked, tipping his head back. He could help out a pretty woman.

"A month."

"Two."

She turned to look at him and blinked, "What?"

"The invitations to something like this would have gone out at least six weeks in advance. You wouldn't have brought just anybody. Two months, at the least."

"Fine, two months," she agreed, facing forward again.

They started meandering between small groups of people and the dance floor and Tony asked her another question. "Where'd we meet?"

"Uh, at a bar."

"Too cliché. Class it up, do you really think you'd find someone like me in a bar? We met last October, at a masquerade. We ran into each other two months ago at a meeting."

"Really? That's your 'how we met' story?"

"It was a boring meeting. After some heavy innuendo, we slipped out and had sex in the elevator. Just couldn't get enough of one another after that." She snorted to stifle a giggle and he turned to look at her. "What?"

"That's ridiculous. No one who knows me would believe that."

He smiled. "Does anyone who knows you think you'd enlist a handsome, wealthy stranger as a fake boyfriend?"

She paused, thinking, before shaking her head.

"Then maybe they don't know you very well, hmm?" He was about to say something else when someone called out.

"Granger!"

She stiffened and her eyes went wide for a second before she plastered a fake smile on her lips and turned to the pale blond interloper. He was tall and thin and the woman on his arm was elegant in that cookie-cutter way well-to-do debutantes tended to be. "It's good to see you, Granger. Glad you could make it. I didn't know how you'd fare after that messy breakup that's been all over the papers."

"I'm just fine, Draco," she said stiffly. "I'm great, actually. I don't think you've met my boyfriend yet—"

"Tony Stark," he said over her, offering his hand to the man.

"Draco Malfoy," the man answered smugly, returning the handshake without an ounce of recognition. "Have you met Daphne Greengrass?" he asked about the woman beside him, and though the question was nominally for Tony, Malfoy had returned his attention to Granger.

She said in a voice he was sure could freeze glass, "We've met. If you'll excuse us, Tony and I were on our way to talk to Minister Shacklebolt." She turned and directed their steps away from the power couple.

"It might help if I knew your name, next time," Tony suggested as they converged on a tall, black man in a vibrant purple suit.

"Hermione!" the man called loudly at their approach, and she left Tony's arm to hug him. He kissed both of her cheeks before stepping back. "You're not letting the press get to you, are you?" He gave a cursory glance in Tony's direction. "I see you've got your own sort of revenge, huh?"

"Tony's not revenge, Kingsley. He just came back into my life at the right moment is all. Besides, I don't need it. The Greengrass bint can play musical eligible bachelors every week for all I care."

Kingsley looked back at Tony and his brow furrowed. Tony smiled and introduced himself again.

"Stark?" he asked, then looked back at Hermione, "Talk about eligible bachelors."

She looked at Tony and there was a question in her eyes but he just grinned at her. She and Kingsley exchanged a few more words and shortly thereafter, Hermione was leading them into what looked like a cloakroom.

She sighed and dropped his arm, turning on him to ask, "All right, so who are you?"

"Tony Stark? Genius, billionaire, playboy? Owner of Stark Industries? Any of this ringing a bell?"

Her shoulders slumped in something like disappointment. "Of all the men, in all the world..."

He shrugged, "What can I say? You've got great taste."

She rolled her eyes at him. "What are you doing at a charity event for St Mungo's?"

He took a step closer to her and brought his hand up to the small of her back. "Being your date. Now come here, to really sell this, we're going to have to look like we've been making out."

"What?" she asked, though she didn't step back out of his embrace.

"We snuck off to the coat closet, what else would we be doing?" He grinned and leaned down to kiss her thoroughly. She kissed him back.


	10. Late-Onset Magic

Late-Onset Magic

 _The Convergence had just as many consequences for Magical folk as it did for the Mundane. If Only Draco had been informed._

Pairing: Darcy & Draco  
Rating: general  
Warnings: blood prejudice  
Trope: magic swap, AU – Repealed Statute of Secrecy  
Words: 992  
Original Release Date: 5 January 2019  
Additional Notes: Written for Marvelously Magical Fanfiction's June Roll-a-Drabble. (In January, because I learned that my prompt had been miswritten.)  
Prompt: Darcy Lewis, Draco Malfoy, Superpower/Magic Swap

* * *

Draco was unbelievably brassed off.

Years later and he still trusted the Daily Prophet over the Quibbler. It got under his skin that the newspaper that his father had called poppycock his entire life was the one with the more reliable, trustworthy news these days, especially so since Xenophilius Lovegood had stopped writing for it in his retirement.

And now Draco was paying the price.

The Daily Prophet had mentioned the convergence but only once, in passing, and they'd got the day wrong. The Quibbler had an entire frontpage article about it, explaining what it was, why to avoid it, etc.

So now he was sitting in St Mungo's with a crazy Muggle reading over the previously mentioned Quibbler article with a sneer on his face.

"Can I hold your wand?" the woman asked.

"No."

"You're not using it right now," she said as if pointing out he couldn't use it at the moment would endear her to him.

"And you don't know how to use it."

"You could show me?"

He glared at her without turning his head, unwilling to give her more of his attention. Her brown hair was tucked up into an atrocious knit hat that didn't match her scarf or coat. Though it might have matched her lipstick at some point.

"Malfoy," a healer called from the back.

Draco jumped up and stormed towards him. "Shh, you don't have to broadcast it to the world," he growled. The healer's look told him that he wasn't nearly as intimidating as he thought he was.

The woman followed at a more sedate pace.

The healer led them to a room and when the door was shut he asked, "And what was your name, miss?"

"Darcy Lewis," she said. There was a bright smile on her face. Draco could feel his upper lip curling again just in reaction to it.

"Well, Miss Lewis, Mr Malfoy, we're just going to do a simple test to confirm what Mr Malfoy has alleged to have happened." He pulled a child's wand, a toy, from his pocket and handed it to the woman. "If you'll hold this and say, _Lumos_."

She took the wand from him and said, " _Lumos._ " Her accent was terrible but still, the wand in her hand lit up like it was supposed to. The healer took the wand back and handed it to Draco. "And now you do the same, please."

Draco gritted his teeth before attempting to cast the spell. " _Lumos._ "

Nothing happened.

Draco ran his tongue over his teeth in frustration, squeezed the wand tight in his hand and said it again more forcefully, " _Lumos!_ "

The healer gave him a strained smile and took the wand from him before Draco could break it. "Well, it looks like what Mr Malfoy alleges happened did happen. His magic has transferred over to you, Miss Lewis."

"Will you fix it already?" Draco said.

"Does this mean I get to go to Hogwarts?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

The healer gave that strained smile again and address the Muggle. "Miss Lewis, can you tell me what happened?"

"Like with the Convergence and everything? Because Thor kicked major butt—"

"With regards to Mr Malfoy, if you will."

"Oh, right. Umm, the readings on Jane's gadgets said that most of the gravitational anomalies had ended except in a few spots and just to make sure that none of the Dark Elves were still around, I went to investigate one of the spots. And then this guy," she paused to point at Draco," just appears out of nowhere right on top of me, basically, knocking me down. We didn't go through a portal into another world, thankfully, but it did feel like I got zapped by really powerful static electricity." When we stood back up I tried to apologize but he started yelling and I sort of freaked out and made my car levitate behind me—it was really kind of cool—"

"And the Convergence anomaly?"

"Oh, it was gone. Back to normal."

The healer nodded and tucked his hands into his pockets. "It's a great thing that you didn't fall into another world," he said to the Muggle. Then he turned to Draco. "It's also a good thing that you hadn't bumped into multiple people. At least with Miss Lewis here, you don't have to worry about having lost your magic to someone and them disappearing into a crowd."

"Can you just fix it?"

"I can't, unfortunately."

Draco could have sworn his stomach flipped over and repeated the word. "Can't?"

"It's beyond my expertise," the healer said, pulling his hands out of his pockets to clasp them in front of his stomach. "The only advice I can give you is to spend a lot of time together, and hope that this sort of thing sorts itself back out."

"I can't take a Muggle back to the manor!" Draco said and he was only partially embarrassed at how his pitch had turned squeaky.

"Technically, she'd be considered a late onset Muggle-born and conversely, you'd be our first case of late-onset Squi—"

"I am not a Squib!" Draco said from between clenched teeth. "I, am not, a, Squib."

The healer nodded and held up his hand in a placating manner. "In any case, yes, Miss Lewis, I believe you should obtain some training for your new-found magical abilities, however long they may last. I can contact Hogwarts to see about getting you some one-on-one time with the professors there or—"

"I'll teach her."

"You will?" she asked.

The healer seemed to have a similar question.

"She has my magic. I'll teach her. Maybe proximity will make it see where it really belongs."

The healer looked back at the Muggle—at Darcy—and then nodded. "If you're all right with that, Miss Lewis?"

"Yeah, sure." After a moment she turned to him with an excited look on her face and asked, "Does this mean I can hold your wand, now?"


	11. Glowing Gold

**Glowing Gold**

 _Ginny starts having bouts of Loki-like accidental magic, complete with golden glow. Frigga is the one to figure out why._

Pairing: Ginny/Loki  
Rating: general  
Warnings: n/a  
Tropes: Superpower/Magic Swap, Accidental Pregnancy, Everybody Lives!  
Words: 1,005  
Original Release Date: 31 Mar 2019  
Additional Notes: Written for Marvelously Magical Fanfiction's March Roll-a-Drabble.  
Prompt: Superpower Magic Swap

* * *

The first time it happened, Ginny didn't even know she'd done it. She'd been on her broom in the middle of the last game of the season. The Holyhead Harpies were slowly losing their initial lead. It was obvious that Puddlemere had a better strategy and better chasers than the Harpies this year. Ginny had wanted to catch the Snitch before Puddlemere stomped them out of the top spot in the league. She'd been scouring the skies and desperately wishing she could be in two places at once.

And then she was.

Her second self spotted the Snitch and chased after at the same time her first self did. She caught it but was penalized so heavily for using magic on the pitch that they still lost. When she was ranting about it to Loki later that night, his eyebrows raised in intrigue but he didn't say anything about it.

It happened again when she didn't want to go to her parents' house for their monthly Sunday dinner. She had been feeling like crap for the last three weeks and though her mum insisted she would feel better if she had some of her mum's home cooking she just didn't want to get out of bed. She dreamt she went anyway and later Hermione brought up a conversation she'd had with her during the dream.

"Loki," she said, drawing his name out. She was laying on the couch in the living room and had intended to summon the extra blanket she had folded on their window seat. Before she'd pulled her wand, it had materialized in her hands with that golden glow that Loki's magic tended to take on.

"Yes, darling?" he asked as he joined her from the kitchen. He was wearing an apron with little Snitches on it that Hermione had given her. It had a fine layer of flour where Loki had just rubbed his hands.

"Did you... summon this blanket for me?" she asked, still holding it. Her eyebrows were pinched with confusion. A whiff of whatever he was making in the kitchen floated to her and it made her stomach turn over. Her nose wrinkled up and she had to swallow down the bile that was creeping up her throat. Merlin, did she feel awful.

"No?" he said, though it was more question than answer. "It's in your hands, isn't it?"

"Yes, but... I wanted to Summon it but I didn't get a chance to. I hadn't even grabbed my wand before it was just... here. Like you tend to do."

His lips quirked but Ginny wasn't feeling up to trying to figure out what he was up to. Maybe it had to do with dinner. Maybe he'd hatched a plan to prank his brother. She couldn't be bothered to question it.

"Is that all, love?" he asked.

"Yeah, I guess."

He disappeared back into the kitchen, closing the door behind him. The scent of pastry and cooking veg and apples all combined together and she had to dash to the loo to empty her stomach.

* . * . *

Ginny had promised Loki months ago that she would attend the family celebration they were having for Thor's son's 2nd birthday. She still felt generally awful but since she'd promised she dressed in the silky Asgardian robes he'd given her for the occasion. She hadn't tried them on before but she thought she should next time because at the last minute she was flipping through the _Good Witches Good Housekeeping_ book her mum had given her for the spell to let out garments. Finally, she found it, after she'd flipped through three or four times—why was there even a section about Pregnancy and Babies in this book?—and fixed the problem.

At the party, Ginny found herself mixing with some of the Asgardian women. Sif and Frigga were discussing something and Brunnhilde was not-so-subtly complaining about the lack of any hard beverages. Ginny liked Brunnhilde but for some reason, her comments and lack of action really irritated Ginny. Without conscious thought, she wished for some fire whisky to give the woman to shut her up. An entire bottle materialized in her hand with that golden glow of Loki's magic.

Frigga noticed before any of the other women. "Oh," she said, giving Ginny a beautiful smile. "It seems Loki's been keeping secrets again. Congratulations, my dear."

"Congra—wha?" Ginny said. She passed the bottle of fire whisky to Brunnhilde to get it out of her hands even as Frigga approached her and guided her away from the rest of the women. They strolled slowly along the outer edges of the room until they got to a set of doors leading out onto the balcony.

"Perhaps he hasn't only been keeping a secret from me," the Queen Mother murmured. "Have you been experiencing bouts of Loki's sorcery often?"

Ginny could feel her confusion on her face. "Maybe? I mean, I've definitely noticed something strange going on lately. I thought it was this cold I've had messing with my magic. Is something going on with Loki too? He hasn't mentioned anything."

Frigga set her hand on Ginny's shoulder and squeezed lightly. Her eyes seemed to twinkle with excitement. "Unlike your magic, sorcery is only hereditary about fifty per cent of the time. I saw the potential for it in Loki so I taught him. It seems, in combination with your own, this time it will be passed down."

"But... I thought we'd been..." Ginny blushed but still tried to push her thoughts through her malfunctioning mouth. "I'm not... I would _know_ , wouldn't I?"

Frigga's eyebrows raised and she lowered her gaze to Ginny's belly. Ginny looked down too, right to where she'd had to let out some of the material of the dress to make it fit. When the truth of it finally hit her in the face she looked back up to Frigga.

The Queen Mother got a smirk on her face that rivalled her son's. "Congratulations. I'm looking forward to meeting my next grandbaby."


	12. A Smile as Bright as the Stars

**A Smile as Bright as the Stars**

 _Harry is tired of his mantle Master of Death. He wants to go home. When Death spits him out in a new place, he's shocked to find that maybe home is relative._

Pairing: Harry/Heimdall (pre-relationship)  
Rating: teen  
Warnings: none  
Tropes: Master of Death!Harry, pre-Thor timeline  
Words: 960  
Original Release Date: 28 April 2019  
Additional Notes: Written for Marvelously Magical Fanfiction's April Roll-a-Drabble.  
Prompt: Harry Potter, Heimdall, Time Travel

* * *

Harry was tired.

He was tired of world hopping and time jumping and dimension moving. All of it. He had no idea when it was anymore, much less where or how. Being Master of Death wasn't all it was cracked up to be. He finished tying up loose ends on whatever planet he was on-it was cold and the people were giant and blue-but for all he knew this was earth, just hundreds of millennia forward or backwards from his original timeline. The tasks themselves weren't always so bad. Once or twice he had to battle some ancient big bad. More often he was supposed to sweep up the souls of the perished that had been languishing around their crypts and burial places waiting for Death to show up. It was tedious and endless and not what he'd expected when he'd combined the three Hallows in the Forbidden Forest. At least Death had seen fit to let him know that Voldemort had been defeated and the battle won. Too bad he was dead. Or something like that. He might have just vanished. He wasn't entirely sure what had happened to his body.

When it was time for Death's taxi service to swirl him up and dump him out somewhere else, he called out to him. "I'm done. I'm tired and I want to go home. I never really wanted to be Master of Death anyway." Harry had been in the middle of the swirling vortex of light and heat when he'd said it. The swirling stopped. All the sound cut out. Heat wicked away from him until it felt like he was back on that frozen wasteland with the blue giants.

Death answered him in the typical way. Not with sound or voice or anything even so simple as telepathy. No, there was just a sudden knowing in his head, an awareness that didn't belong. It crowded into the meat space of his brain and caused pain in a way that defied description.

 _Perhaps you do need a break,_ It seemed to say. _You've been doing this for quite some time... for a mortal, anyway._

And then the presence was gone and the vortex was swirling. The sudden roar of sound caused Harry to flinch. The heat flooded back in such a rush that it caused him to perspire. Sweat beaded on his upper lip and in his hair; he could feel it dripping down his back.

The vortex stopped.

He blinked the afterimage of swirling lights away to find himself standing in a large round room with a domed ceiling. The walls were covered in gold circles and geometric patterns. There was a complete lack of furniture. In the centre of the space was a raised area with steps leading up to a low glowing podium-looking thing. Standing behind the podium, with a giant sword was an imposing man in otherworldly armour. His horned helm partially hid his face but did not obscure his golden eyes. He was staring directly at Harry.

Behind him was an opening in the wall that seemed to look out directly into the night sky, complete with twinkling stars.

"Uhh, hi. I'm Harry."

"I saw you coming."

Harry didn't even find that such a strange thing to hear anymore. As Master of Death, he'd heard all sorts of crazy things. "As long as all my clothes were on, everything's cool," he answered. "You wouldn't by chance happen to know when or where I am-we are?-at the moment, do you?"

The armoured man's eyes went wide in shock for a moment but then his lips twitched. He almost smiled. Point for Harry. He nodded and sheathed the sword into its scabbard on his back. He approached, stepping down lightly from his post. "I am Heimdall, Guardian of Worlds. This," he said, gesturing around at the circular enclosure with a raised hand, palm flat, "is the Bifrost. You are on Asgard." He closed his eyes for just a moment-but in that moment his posture changed and he was far away-and then opened them again. He smiled fully and pointed to a doorway behind Harry. "And you're just in time for dinner. Queen Frigga is expecting us."

"Oh, nice," Harry said, feeling rather shocked. Not very often did the first person he met actually know the answers to his typical where-and-when questions. He turned and let Heimdall, Guardian of Worlds, lead the way out of the doorway. Beyond it was a road made of a rainbow but solid like glass. There was nothing but space and sky and stars on either side of it. Underneath it was the sea, flowing out but not flowing back in. Ahead of them was a vast citadel, with golden spires that seemed to glow with warmth and invitation. "So, does everyone here have foresight?" he asked once they were a third of the way across the bridge.

Heimdall's laugh was hearty and warm and it reminded Harry of dinners at Mrs Weasley's table. "No, only I am gifted with the power to See. I watch over the nine worlds. Frigga is only expecting us for dinner because I thought to mention we would be having a guest."

Harry had a lot of questions for Heimdall-about Asgard, about his position of Guardian of the Worlds, about his gift of foresight-but they could wait. The most pressing question lingered on his tongue; he was almost afraid to ask.

"Ask me your question, Harry Potter, Master of Death. I have an answer for you."

Harry swallowed and inhaled deeply, looking around at the golden citadel and the beautiful star-filled sky. "How long will I stay here?"

Heimdall's smile was almost as brilliant as the starry sky surrounding them. "For as long as you wish."


	13. Avengers Initiative: Magic

**Avengers Initiative: Magic**

 _A blind date turns out a little differently than Regulus expects._

Pairing: Nick & Regulus  
Rating: general  
Warnings: none  
Tropes: Blind Date  
Words: 1,000  
Original Release Date: 02 June 2019  
Additional Notes: Written for Marvelously Magical Fanfiction's May Roll-a-Drabble.  
Prompt: Nick Fury, Regulus Black, Blind Date

* * *

M seeking W. Casual. Reggie Black. 50. British Ex-Pat. Dark hair, light eyes, tall, lean build. Bad scarring on left arm.

Re: M seeking W. Casual. Reggie...  
Hi, I'm Natasha. 27. Redhead. In-shape. I like scars; got a few of my own. You interested?

And that's how Regulus had met Natasha. They'd had a bit of fun, and he thought that would be the end of it. But then she'd programmed her number in his mobile and just... stuck around. He didn't know if she could sense how lonely he was or thought he needed a friend. He couldn't deny it. He'd been alone since he ran from everything and everyone he'd known because he'd been scared of the Dark Lord.

He'd heard that the man had been vanquished twice—once in '81 and again in '98—and he thought about going back but his life was here now. He worked from home. Had a little rooftop garden and sold potions of middling quality. Sometimes he patented spells by mail. It was a lonely existence, hence his searching for company in an unusual manner. He didn't have the smooth confidence his brother had, where he could pick up any woman he wanted in a pub, but the ads were easy enough. He'd only had to Obliviate one or two of them over the years.

He thought he was going to have to Obliviate Natasha once because, after a long movie and platonic cuddling on the couch, she'd spotted his wand. "What's this?" she had asked, picking it up to examine it from where he'd been stupid and left it on the coffee table in plain view.

Thinking fast, Regulus had said, "You know how some people have lucky rabbit's feet? That's my lucky stick. It's a strange little quirk, I know, but it's got me through some tough times."

"Huh," she had said, curiosity apparently satisfied. She had let her fingers glide down the shaft and then set it back where she found it. Nothing more had been said about it.

After another six months, about the time Regulus would start seeking female companionship again, Natasha asked if he was interested in going on a blind date with one of her friends. He didn't find anything questionable about that. They hadn't had sex since that first night, and he counted her as a good friend at this point.

So here he was, sitting in a secluded corner of an upscale restaurant with a foul-tasting glass of wine in front of him, waiting for his date. He was a little nervous as he'd never really properly dated anyone before, but he was confident that Natasha would have some idea of what he liked.

A tall, bald black man sat in the chair opposite. He wore a black trenchcoat and an eyepatch. Despite Regulus's many years living on the fringes of Muggle culture, his first thought was that the man must have lost his eye to Dark Magic. His next thought, he voiced. "Umm, sorry, but I'm waiting for my blind date, Nicki. I don't want her to think I stood her up because the table has two occupants."

The man grinned and shook his head. "Hate to disappoint you but I'm Nick. Nick Fury."

Regulus felt his brain stutter for a minute. Was this man having a go at him? Was this an elaborate prank Natasha had set up? "Sorry?" he asked, still a little flabbergasted.

"I see Natasha didn't tell you who exactly you'd be meeting. I'm the Director of SHIELD. I'm looking for talented men and women to join an Initiative."

"An Initiative?"

"In case of super-human or extra-terrestrial threats."

Regulus shifted a little in his chair, wondering how much this man knew and how he could get out of this incredibly awkward situation. "What makes you think I'm talented? I'm just a gardener."

"I think that lucky stick of yours is more than just lucky. You any good with it?" Nick asked, raising the eyebrow over his good eye.

He knew. Regulus didn't know how much he knew, didn't know if somehow his past had come to light somehow, but this man knew he was magical. That made him dangerous. "Deadly," Regulus said in response. He hadn't killed in decades and hadn't particularly enjoyed it like his fellow Death Eater brethren, but he was capable.

"Good," Nick said. He reached for the open wine bottle, poured himself a glass and took a swig. "You'll be working with Agent Romanov"—at this he must have seen Regulus's brow pinch—"Natasha. We've got another agent coming in from the British branch of SHIELD. Goes by the name Granger. She's talented—like you—and will probably be your permanent partner if you accept."

"So you just hire random wizards without knowing their pasts? Their credentials?"

Nick snorted. "Hardly." He swallowed down the rest of the wine in his glass. "We know everything about you. Former Death Eater past, estranged heir to a sizable fortune and family name. Natasha reaching out to you was the last step in the vetting process."

Regulus was distinctly uncomfortable now. He knew a threat of exposure when he heard one. "And if I say no? I don't want to join your little merry band of—whatevers. I've had my taste of madmen. I bow to no master now."

The other man shrugged. "Suit yourself, but if I were you, I'd give it some thought before making a decision." He stood up and pulled a business card from an inner coat pocket. It made a little _whuff_ sound as he snapped it to the table. He tapped the card, nodded, and walked away.

Regulus dared not slump in his chair, though he wanted to. What sort of crazy idiot was he to even be thinking about this? He picked up the card, swallowed down the swill in his glass, and called the waiter for the check.

He knew what sort of idiot he was.

A lonely one.


	14. Beginnings

**Beginnings**

 _Natasha may have a few Hufflepuff traits. Lily definitely has a few Slytherin ones. It's the beginning of a beautiful friendship._

Pairing: Lily & Natasha, Lily/Natasha  
Rating: teen  
Warnings: none  
Tropes: Fluff, Gossip  
Words: 1,301  
Original Release Date: 11 Jul 2019  
Additional Notes: Written for SinginInTheRaine on AO3 for the Every Woman 2019 Exchange!

* * *

Fourth Year, Care of Magical Creatures, 1974

Natasha was holed up in a tree at the edge of the Forbidden Forest waiting for Professor Kettleburn's class to start. The professor was late. He'd probably show up with something bandaged, maybe another finger missing or some burns. He was either the most accident-prone wizard she'd ever seen, or he was cursed, Natasha couldn't decide.

From her vantage point, she could see the group of Gryffindor bullies start in on their favorite pincushion, the ever-prickly Severus Snape, fellow Slytherin. She almost felt bad for him, except he was rude to practically everyone. He always tried to retaliate like a damn Gryffindor too, head-on, hot-headed, and solo. If he could stop being a git long enough to ask for help from his housemates in green, the Gryffindors wouldn't stand a chance. As it was, she was fine watching him take the brunt of their bullying, otherwise, they might notice _her_. She knew the Gryffindor Black knew her, they'd grown up in the same circles. As it was, though, they were content to pick on the lower class boy and not the weird Slytherin girl who hung out with Hufflepuffs.

A girl with bright red hair, matching Natasha's in intensity, moved around the mass of students to get a better view of who the bullies were after now. When she saw that it was her secret friend Snape, the girl visibly puffed up her chest like she was about to stand up for him.

Natasha shook her head, knowing how this would play out. Instead of letting the weekly occurrence repeat itself, she grabbed a handful of acorns from the branch she was sitting astride and tossed them one at a time down at the other ginger.

When the fourth acorn cracked Evans in the crown, she turned at looked up at the source with her wand drawn. Natasha glanced at the length of wood with absolutely no worry whatsoever then dropped from her perch. She landed lightly on her feet beside Evans, who was still frowning angrily.

"You realize he gets picked on worse when you intervene, don't you?" Natasha said, gesturing with the tip of her chin to where the four-against-one kerfuffle was going on.

"But no one else stands up for him! Other Slytherins just tuck tail and run."

"He would have backup if he just asked for it."

"Wha...what?" Evans's angry eyebrows wrinkled up. "What do you mean?" She paused like she just realized who she was talking to. "You're a Slytherin, aren't you?"

Natasha nodded. "Romanov. And you're Evans the Gryffindor. What I mean is, Slytherins protect their own, as long as we don't try it on our own like hot-headed Gryffindors. Your friend should have got the Sorting Hat to resort him when it called out the House of Snakes. The only thing Slytherin about him is his forked tongue."

Evans let out an involuntary little giggle, nodding. "So is it just because I'm a Gryffindor that he gets picked on?"

"Nah," Natasha said, shaking her head. "It's because you're a girl and boys the world over don't think highly of girls."

Evans scoffed like the statement of fact was offensive.

Natasha shrugged. "Blame their fathers."

"What do we do instead then?" Evans asked. She crossed her arms and looked in the direction of the boys. Snape got one offensive spell off just as an upper form Gryffindor prefect came into the clearing. He was reprimanded, but the Gryffindors weren't.

"Team up. Strike from the shadows. Hard and fast, so the bullies don't know what hit them."

The prefect spoke up, addressing the whole class. "Professor Kettleburn won't be attending class and has instructed from the Hospital Wing that you should take this time to study for your next class. He'll see you next time."

"You're a Slytherin. Why are you helping me?" Evans asked as she gathered up her school bag. She hung back as Natasha grabbed her own from the base of her tree, and they lingered near the back of the class of students as they headed back towards the castle.

Natasha shrugged again. "My best friends are Hufflepuffs. Maybe their steadfast attitudes about house unity and helping others rubbed off onto me." She offered the other girl a little smile.

Evans smiled back.

* . * . *

Hogsmeade Weekend before Valentines, 1978

"Hey, Lily! You in there?" Mary called from the door of the girl's lavatory.

"Be right out," Lily answered. She was nervous about her date to Hogsmeade. It would be their first "official" thing as a couple, and she wanted to look her best. She tucked her blush brush back into her makeup bag, gave herself a once-over in the mirror and—satisfied with what she saw—headed back out to the Seventh Year dorms.

Marlene whistled when she walked out, causing Mary to turn around from where she was chatting with Dorcas. "Oh, look at you," Mary said. "Did you finally say yes to Potter?"

Lily looked at her with confusion for a moment before answering, "What—no!"

"Well you wouldn't get that dressed up just to go buy parchment or sweets," Mary said. She fluffed the back of her cropped hair. "It's the last Valentine's of our Hogwarts' career, you've got to be going with someone."

"Oh, is it Bucky from Hufflepuff?" Dorcas asked, "I heard Clint's ditching him to take Fifth Year Laura Branham. He's dreamy!"

Marlene gave an unimpressed shrug with one shoulder as she looked at her girlfriend. "He's all right."

Mary tried to pin Lily with a searching look. "It's not that Slytherin, is it? Tell me you didn't."

Lily smiled to herself and shook her head. "It's not the Slytherin you think."

Marlene raised an eyebrow even as Mary's wrinkled in confusion. "You've been hooking up with Reggie Black in secret, haven't you?"

Dorcas rolled her eyes at Marlene and smiled at Lily. "Mar, you only think Reggie is attractive because you hooked up with Sirius last year."

"Eh, we all make mistakes sometimes," Marlene countered. "I figure the quiet one might be less self-absorbed."

"I'm getting out of this room before the conversation devolves any further," Lily said, grabbing her purse from her bed and heading towards the door.

"But you didn't tell us who you're going with!" Mary said as the door started to swing shut. Dorcas's laughter drowned out her whine.

Lily headed down the corridor and made a detour to one of the back staircases. It led down into the dungeons and came out right at the Slytherin dorm entrance. She approached just as the door was starting to slide open.

Natasha was standing there in a beautiful cashmere sweater that Lily had saved up for and bought her for Christmas. Her hair was braided intricately behind her head, and when she saw Lily she lit up. Though no one who didn't know her would consider the expression on her face "lit up," Lily knew her well and could see it. She knew her smirks and tiny smiles, the humor in her eyes and the way she laughed without making a sound. And the rare occasion, after too much whiskey in Lily's room at her house in Cokeworth, the sound of her snorted giggles. Lily smiled at her, her emotions written on her face.

"Did you get harangued by your dorm mates as well?" Lily asked her as Natasha stepped closer.

"Yeah. They're absolutely positive I'm going with Bucky."

Lily reached down and clasped Natasha's hand in hers as they started walking towards the staircase up to the Entrance Hall. "He's going with Peggy and Steve, isn't he?"

"Mmhm." As they walked out into the crisp spring sunshine past many of their fellow students, Natasha squeezed her fingers. Things were going to be just fine.


	15. Presents and a Plan

**Presents and a Plan**

 _Natasha, Russian agent and assassin, needs to get her father's remaining family out of Britain for a while. In an effort to scout the situation, she brings gifts for the family._

Pairing: Ginny & Natasha  
Rating: general  
Warnings: too much backstory, introducing romance novels to a pre-teen, older cousin getting younger cousin 'contraband'  
Tropes: Romance  
Words: 997  
Original Release Date: 28 Feb 2020  
Additional Notes: Written for Marvelously Magical Fanfiction's July Roll-a-Drabble.  
Prompt: Natasha, Ginny, Romance (Yeah, it took this long and I still didn't quite capture the trope prompt. Oh well.)

* * *

It had been too long since Natasha had visited. Or, at least, it felt like too long. Three years can be a long time in a child's life, right? Even one such as herself?

She left her trunk hidden under the hedges at the gate and walked up to the front door of the Burrow. She was sixteen the last time she was here, her very first visit on her own after she'd been sent to live with her mother's family. The house still looked just as wobbly as she remembered it, tilting and teetering at odd angles as it rose into the sky. The shed behind the house was new. Or rather, new to her. The siding was already starting to tint green from algae and damp conditions.

She didn't give herself any time for hesitation and doubt. She needed to scout the situation to cement her plan. She knocked. When the plump, redheaded woman opened the door, Natasha smiled widely—part fake, practised smile, part real—and said, "Aunt Molly!"

Molly's eyes lit up and she reached forward and pulled Natasha into a squeezing hug. "Oh, Natasha, it's soo good to see you! Come in, come in," she stepped back and gestured her in. Once inside, Molly set about making tea. "What brings you to the Burrow?"

Natasha opened her mouth to provide her well-rehearsed lie but Molly didn't let her answer.

"Oh, just look at you! How old are you now? Eighteen? Nineteen. I'm so glad to see you, dear. You've missed the boys, they're all having a father-son bonding day with Arthur. Well, the younger four at least. Did you hear that Charlie went to Romania? He's studying dragons at the Reserve there."

Natasha remembered this about her father's family. If she wanted to say something, interrupting was sometimes the only possible course of action. "No, I hadn't heard that about Charlie. Good for him, I remember how enamoured he was when I told him about the dragons I'd seen in Russia." She nodded her thanks as Molly set a cup of tea in front of her. "And Ginny? Is she with Arthur and the boys?"

Molly's exuberance dimmed a little and she stepped closer. In a hushed voice, she said, "She just had her first year at Hogwarts and... things didn't go well at all. There was... a cursed diary and she ended up possessed for some time—she doesn't remember half of her studies. She almost died. She's not feeling herself right yet."

"Oh, no," Natasha said, matching Molly's volume. "When did this happen?"

"The whole year, really, but the near-death experience was just a few days before school was done. So, only a week ago. I'm not sure what I can do but give her time." Molly shook her head, her worry for her daughter plain on her face.

Natasha tried to steer the conversation back away from the gossipy worry that had overtaken it. "I'm sorry to have missed so many of my cousins, I brought gifts for everyone. I'll just have to—"

"You didn't have to do that," Molly said, sitting back and tidying her apron. She started tidying up the kitchen table which had collected a few bits of parchment and newsprint. One on top caught Natasha's eye—the _Daily Prophet_ 's annual Grand Prize Galleon Draw—that was it, the thing she needed. She knew Aunt Molly wouldn't take a large monetary gift outright as she was too proud, and she wouldn't flee if Natasha told her the family was in danger, she was far too brave and Gryffindor brash for that. But prize money, won by chance, and a suggestion? That _might_ work.

Natasha moved towards the door to summon her travelling trunk to her. "What about Bill? Is he still in Egypt?" She carried her trunk to the table and started pulling out the gifts she'd brought for everyone.

"Yes, Arthur and I went to see him this past Christmas. It's so fascinating there. I wish I could bottle up my memories and share them with the children."

"Maybe you can take them there one day, make a proper family vacation out of it."

Molly hummed a little and murmured, "I wish."

Natasha handed Molly her gift, which wasn't so much a gift but a card. Inside was a gift certificate to one of the clothing boutiques on Diagon Alley.

"You shouldn't have," Molly said, pressing a hand to her cheek to hide her blush.

Natasha smiled. "You deserve something for you, every now and then, you know. Mothers—parents—aren't appreciated enough." She picked up the small rectangular present she'd picked for Ginny. "Do you think I can intrude on Ginny to give her this?"

"What is it? If you don't mind me asking."

"A book."

Molly's brow furrowed. "I don't know—"

"It's a Muggle book. Nothing magical, nothing harmful." Molly nodded and gestured for Natasha to head upstairs.

Natasha knew where Ginny's room was and knocked on the closed door.

"I don't want to talk, Mom."

"That's good since I'm not your mother," Natasha answered.

The door opened and there stood eleven-year-old Ginny. She wore Muggle clothes and a confused look. "Natasha?"

"In the flesh! I brought you a present," she said, holding up the wrapped book.

Ginny eyed it warily. "Is it a book?"

"Muggle book, here, open it." Natasha handed it over.

Ginny retreated into her room, leaving the door open, a clear invitation. Natasha followed and sat on the edge of Ginny's bed as she tore the wrapping paper away. When the cover was revealed, Ginny looked at it with wide, startled eyes. "What is—" and then her voice dropped to a whisper,—"is this a _romance_ novel?"

Natasha smiled and nodded. "It's a good one too. All the naughty bits."

Ginny tipped her head back and giggled, a flush started to creep up her neck. "I can't read this—"

"Oh, yes you can," Natasha said, winking at her.


	16. Scorched

**Scorched**

 _Peggy doesn't remember meeting him but he definitely remembers her.  
_ Pairing: Peggy/Charlie  
Rating: teen  
Warnings: none  
Tropes: forgotten first meetings, pre-relationship  
Words: 766  
Original Release Date: 03 March 2020  
Additional Notes: Written for Marvelously Magical February Roll-a-Drabble, Prompt: Charlie, Forgotten First Meetings, Captain America: First Avenger

* * *

Charlie was just starting to redress after his physical when a beautiful brunette in an army uniform stepped into the room. Her eyes widened as she saw his state of undress and she turned around to face the door.

He chuckled and finished lacing his britches. "The carpet matches the drapes if you're curious."

"I can assure you that I am not," she answered.

They were quiet for the few minutes it took him to finish dressing. In that time, he looked her over. She was shapely, a torpedo figure for sure, and only a little shorter than he was. She cleared her throat and he snapped him out of ogling her.

"I'm dressed."

She turned around and looked him over. Her eyes were a lovely, warm brown and she had painted her lips Victory red. Charlie tried not to stare, even as she wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. "You don't meet the qualification to join the Strategic Scientific Reserve. You are free to leave."

She didn't sound sorry about his rejection. He didn't care either. It wasn't like he had really wanted to sign up for the Royal Forces. "That's fine. My boss required me to offer my services. I applied for the Strategic Scientific Reserve because it sounded interesting."

His answer seemed to have flummoxed her. "You weren't conscripted?"

"Work exemption," he said, shrugging.

She gave him a quick nod and said, "Have a good day, Mr Weasley." Then she turned and left.

* . * . *

Peggy was finishing setting up her desk in the new SSR offices hidden above the telephone company. There was laughter from the corridor and two men walked in. A blond she had briefly met before—Agent Jack Thompson—and a ginger. The ginger was carrying a heavy rucksack. He held out his hand to the blond and shook it. "Thanks for picking me up, Jack." He had a British accent. "It's good to know I'm not the only one here."

"Of course," Thompson said. "Your desk is in the back row," he pointed, "next to Agent Carter's." He looked over and saw her. "Speaking of." He walked towards Peggy and she stood up to greet him. "Agent Carter, this is Agent Weasley, he's one SSR's newest recruits."

"Nice to meet you," she said, stepping over to shake his hand.

"Nice to meet—Oh, it's you," his exclamation caught her off guard, but he was smiling so she wasn't too alarmed.

"Pardon?"

His smile grew. "You're the one who informed me that the SSR didn't want me a couple of years ago. Seems they've lowered their qualification standards a bit."

She felt off-balance. She'd delivered that sort of news to a lot of men in 1941 when she was working for the recruitment office. She tried to rack her mind to any bit of recognition.

His smile turned into a smirk and he leaned closer; "The carpet matches the drapes." He wasn't quiet enough in the small room and Agent Thompson stifled a snort of amusement.

Peggy felt her face flush and she stepped back to regain some semblance of personal space and propriety. Completely involuntarily, her gaze slipped from his face and scanned down the front of his suit. She had a flash of memory, pale skin covered in freckles so thick he almost looked tan in spots. Course curly ginger hair down the middle of his well-sculpted chest, thicker over his stomach, then a trail leading down into unfastened trousers. Her gaze returned to his face to see him bounce his eyebrows at her.

Thompson coughed, to cover his amusement and said, "Well, I'll leave you two to get... reacquainted." He turned and strode towards the door quickly, shutting it behind him.

Gathering herself, Peggy tilted her chin up slightly. "I don't believe I remember you," she lied.

"I can take my shirt off if that would help spark your memory."

She swallowed and looked away. "That won't be necessary."

"Uh-huh."

Trying to steer the conversation in a more professional direction, Peggy said, "What was it that made you apply a second time to SSR, Agent Weasley?"

"Charlie, call me Charlie." He shrugged in answer and headed towards the desk Thompson had said was his. "Just interested in a change of scenery. The dames are less likely to set me on fire here."

Her eyebrows raised but she didn't take the curiosity bait he'd laid out.

He set his rucksack down beside his desk and looked her up and down again, focusing on her fire-red lips. "Though I have a feeling I might still get burned."


End file.
